And now a walk back through the halls of memory...
April '04 (I think it was '04). A Sunday afternoon. The rescue had been informed that 2 horses needed to be picked up from the Rochester auction. They were 'No-Sales' and should have never been put through the sale because they were both essentially 3 legged horses. As Tony and Philip went to pick them up, a crew of volunteers prepared stalls for the incoming horses while performing a laundry list of other chores, and a few of us were giving tours of the facility. I was giving a tour to 3 women when Kathryn came out of the office to let me know that Tony called.
"Tony wants you to get a crash cart ready. One of the horses went down in the trailer. They're about 5 minutes away, and he wants a clear path to the barn..." I was informed.
Excusing myself from the women I was giving the tour to, I got on my orders, knowing Tony's "5 minutes" translated to what the rest of the world would call a "2 minute warning".
A minute and a half later, Tony and Philip were coming down the drive at a considerable rate of speed. The truck was parked with the end of the trailer in line with the barn door. Volunteers and visitors gathered around as the trailer doors opened. The horse that didn't go down, named Siouxsie later that night, got herself out of the trailer before any of us could get in there to walk her out. She had a broken knee that had fused at a painful-to-even-look-at angle and could not fully step on that hoof. But she moved quick enough on 3 good legs, as if to say 'I'm not the one you need to worry about right now.' All attention was now on the horse that was down in the trailer.
He was a fairly large appaloosa, even for as bony and underweight as he was, and his hock injury was freely bleeding all over the trailer. Once the wound was wrapped and somewhat protected, we began the extraction process. The pictures really are worth a thousand words here. There was no hesitation amongst the volunteers. We did what we needed to do to get the task done. Once out, the treatment began. The visitors whose tours were cut short by the turn of events stood back to watch us work. Some had opinions, some were just awe struck, and one, that happened to be a RN, even stepped up to help apply pressure to his wounds as I ran between the lab and Tony, fetching what was needed as it was called for.
"He's losing a lot of blood. Is there some way to get a blood type for a transfusion?" the RN asked.
"I'm sure there is, but we don't have time to run that kind of test and find a facility that would be able to get us the blood we need fast enough," Tony informed her.
Reality can be a royal bitch sometimes.
Just as we slowed the flow of blood from the wound and had the first round of painkillers into his system, it began to snow. A quick look amongst the volunteers confirmed the disbelief. It's April. And its freaking snowing. Of all times to endure a weather anomaly, this was probably the least convenient. Knowing that the weather was not going to cooperate with what we needed to do for this horse, we did the only thing we could; we picked his butt up and carried him into the barn, then into his stall. And as if getting him into the stall wasn't enough, Tony pointed out that we should probably turn him around so his head was facing the aisle. So we picked him up AGAIN and turned him around in the stall.
After 2 hours of intensive care, the horse was stable enough to attempt the next feat: standing him up.
'C'mon baby, if you're gonna live you gotta stand'...
Again, the pictures are worth a thousand words. We got him up, shaky as he was on his legs, we supported him. With the crew of volunteers steadying him, I removed the dressing from his hock and began to debride and clean the wound. The putrid, rancid, gag-anyone-within-10 feet-of-it wound. Choking back the vomit, I dressed and wrapped the hock and we collectively walked him down the aisle. He was tender-footing the walk, but using that leg. We fed him, loved on him, put him back in his stall and let him rest. As a few of us watched him in the closed circuit monitors in the office, one of the volunteers came up with a name. Apollo. He was more than an intake number.
Sadly, our efforts were too late for Apollo. Between the hours of 4 A.M and 9 A.M. Monday morning, after I and another volunteer (Kelsey, was that you?) passed out from exhaustion, Apollo had laid down, never to get up again.
...we gotta get him out.
the visiting RN applying pressure to the wound.
he's up.
The previous owner of this horse saw it fitting to take him to an auction in this 3 legged condition instead of calling a vet.
If you fall, we will pick you up. If your legs are weak, we will support you. If you are hurt, we will try to mend you. If it is your time to go, know that we love you.
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